


I Don't Know Who I Am (but i find myself in you)

by unfortunate17



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunate17/pseuds/unfortunate17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which zayn is a controversial, international RnB star and liam never leaves his hospital room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Know Who I Am (but i find myself in you)

**Author's Note:**

> Please ignore any inaccuracies - I’m a hopeless American, ignorant to specifics of British culture. Also, I’ve never been to Wolverhampton, so please excuse my depiction. Oh and god, some of the stuff said in here is extremely offensive - I just want to say that I, in no way shape or form, agree with any of it.
> 
> WARNINGS: loads of cursing, douche-bag-ness & sexual references (PG15)

……………………………………………………

it’s like this;

zayn has seen a lot of the world and a lot of the people in the world. he’s traveled to places he never dreamed existed and been met by adoring fans everywhere he steps. he’s not young or foolish and he certainly isn’t innocent in any sense of the word. zayn is experienced. in more ways than one. 

which is why he stoutly refuses to perform at the local hospital in some english town he’s never heard of in an effort to restore the wholesome boy-next-door thing he had going for him when he was first signed at sixteen. (he doesn’t do charity, damnit.) but what his management doesn’t know is that zayn was never “wholesome” to begin with. he’s smoked since the tender age of fourteen when his friend danny had pulled him behind the school bleachers with a treacherous cancer-stick dangling tantalizingly from his fingers. wanna light up, yeah? and loosen up mate, it’s just a smoke. 

and zayn, desperate to please, had suckled down the fag, smoke curling through his chest, nose, mouth - choking off his breath. the slow curl of danny’s mouth, so unfamiliarly directed at zayn, was enough to make one thing very clear.

danny liked him when he smoked.

and zayn really wanted to be liked.

………….. 

contrary to whatever bullshit was written in the papers about his mysterious past; zayn had an exceptionally decent childhood - better than average really. his parents, though divorced, were friendly enough. his sisters, though irritating, were kind, loving, and just that bit cheeky that made zayn want to simultaneously throttle and cuddle them.

you see, what zayn really did lack was friendship. acceptance - whatever the fuck you want to call it.

he was four when he first realized that he wasn’t like the other kids in his town. walking into the shithole that his nursery school was, zayn’s hair was suddenly too dark to be passed as brown, his skin a little too tan, his homemade lunch of naan and chicken a little too different. it had been painfully obvious that zayn didn’t quite meet the quota set by the others to share the blocks.

years later, he was forced to give up his place from his high school football team when word got around that he was not only muslim, but swung both ways. apparently it wasn’t safe to have him in the locker room -lookout: fag coming through. and ey, zayn - see anything you like, yeah? if you do you wouldn’t mind looking away, would ya? and worst of all since you’re a fag an’ all, shouldn’t your muslim family disown you zayn? . and as much as zayn liked to think he was unaffected - he was. he was.

…………. 

the biggest difference zayn sees in himself from his high school days before fame is his effort. he used to try to make people like him. now he simply figures if someone doesn’t like him they can go fuck themselves. he’s done trying - he’s rich, famous, and - if the amount of girls (and guys) is anything to go by - very, very attractive.

which is why he doesn’t do charity gigs - whether at a hospital or at a fucking orphanage in africa. he’s done with trying to make people like him.

which is why when his hands shake for a cigarette after a bad show, he chalks it up to exhaustion.

…………. 

“i don’t care kid, management wants the show done - you do the show. that’s how it works, mate.”

zayn sighs, exasperated. “but it’s at a bloody hospital.”

paul shoots him a withering look, “i don’t care if it’s at the fucking zoo, zayn. you need to put on a show for an hour and a half so stop being a child - the sooner you agree, the sooner you get it out of the way.”

zayn rolls his eyes. it really does look like there’s no way out of this one - management seems to be holding their own. they’ve been taking the piss out of him for weeks and weeks and zayn is ready to agree, if only to get them off his back. he curses, throwing his head back against the leather seat of the van. (who the fuck had even rented this van - zayn hated leather. it was cold, damnit.)

paul raises an eyebrow, “…or management could always not pay the paps off so that photo would end up on the front page of the sun.”

zayn narrows his eyes. “that’s fucking blackmail. where the hell is my lawyer when I need him. Christ, management is fu-“

“zayn.” paul’s tone holds a note of finality.

there’s a silence.

“fuck you man, fuck you straight to hell.”

paul grins, “glad you see our side, zayn.”

…………..

it’s cold as shit the day of the show and zayn can’t bring himself to get out of his van. the town they’re in - some place called Wolverhampton - is in the middle of nowhere. Literally nowhere - zayn doesn’t remember ever going to a place nearly as remote and isolated (except his hometown, but that’s a different story). it’s wet and dewy, with early morning fog coating the barren landscape to add a feeling of depression to the area. fitting, charming place for a hospital really. who wouldn’t get better out here?

zayn bets twenty quid that if he was ever forced into a place like this, he’d lose it faster than he could say, “paul, get me the fuck outta here, would ya?”

“zayn,” paul turns around from the front seat to fix zayn, who is currently draped across the back seat, with a stern look, “get out of the car.”

zayn smirks, “i’d love to paul, but i’d get mobbed. don’t you remember that one time, in new york, was it?” he lazily lifts a hand in the air, “Well, wherever it was, remember-“ 

“zayn, you have three seconds to get your skinny arse out of the car,” paul spits, eying zayn from the rearview mirror. 

“but paul,” zayn cries, throwing the arm previously in the air across his face, “don’t you care about my safety?”

“but zayn,” paul mimics, “don’t you realize that there’s nobody here to mob you in the first place?”

zayn raises an eyebrow before realizing that paul is seriously considering manhandling him into the hospital lobby. he figures that scene would be rightfully embarrassing, despite all the stupid shit he’s found himself in before. he pulls the lock on the door and steps out, shivering in the cold, morning air. (zayn plans on giving management an earful about timing his shows - it’s fucking eight in the morning for christ’s sake). he makes sure to slam the door harder than unnecessary and it surprisingly eases some of his tension.

paul huffs out a breath. “thank god,” he mumbles before turning and pulling the car out of the lot (before zayn can change his mind and clamber back in), leaving zayn to stand alone in front of the hospital.

the building looms in front over him - four stories of dark gray peeling paint and stained windows. zayn sighs heavily, cursing his whole life, and yanks back the door to step into the warmth of the lobby.

A pretty, dark-haired nurse at the front desk who seems to be going into cardiac arrest at his mere presence greets him. zayn discreetly rolls his eyes - she might have been fit and while he’d normally jump at the chance - he’s not sleeping with someone who choses to spend their free time hanging out with fucking patients.

she stutters out a hello and he grins disarmingly back at her. “hey babe,” he drawls, yorkshire accent coloring his words. zayn thinks he actually feels her swooning as she unsteadily leads him to the back door.

she clears her throat, holding the door open for him, “right through here, mr. malik.”

zayn throws his head back and chuckles. he dances his fingers on the inside of her wrist, “i’m zayn, love. just zayn.” she flushes a pretty red and he smiles lopsidedly back at her, ego boosted that he can pull people with just a few choice words and smiles. 

like he said, zayn doesn’t need to try to make people like him. and he never will.

…………..

the show is a fucking drag; just like how zayn knew it would be. awkward patients, ranging from seventeen to seventy are crowded in a makeshift auditorium and zayn doesn’t have a stage or a microphone (like, what the fuck man). instead he makes do with tapping his foot against the wood floor and belts his lyrics to the back wall. the audience breaks into applause at the end of his set and he smiles crookedly; zayn knows he puts on a damn good show. 

he’s halfway through shaking the hand of an elderly woman in a wheelchair (who blushes at the sight of him; making zayn shudder and smirk at the same time), smiling at her congratulations, young man. you’ve got quite the voice, thanking her for listening (even though he wants to say no shit sherlock - a sold out MSG gig and two brit awards didn’t just fall into his lap), when zayn sees someone peeking out from the door he presumed led off to the patients’ rooms.

and that someone was a very, very attractive boy, probably around zayn’s age of nineteen or twenty. his hands are clenched into shaking fists. his teeth nibble on his (incredibly full and red) lower lip and zayn feels his brain sort of fizzling away.

“excuse me,” he mumbles distractedly to the old woman, and saunters to the far door without waiting for a response. the boy’s eyes widen when he realizes where zayn is heading and scampers backwards quickly, but zayn is much too fast. he yanks the door open before the boy can run off and quite suddenly, they’re face to face.

god he’s even better looking up close - all droopy puppy eyes, full lips, and a halo of incredibly curly brown hair that has zayn thinking the filthiest of thoughts. Jesus.

zayn swallows and smiles cockily, “hello there. why don’t you come in so I can meet you properly…” zayn trails off, waiting for the boy, who now seems to be very interested in the flooring, to fill in.

the brown-haired boy doesn’t disappoint him, “liam,” he says, eyes searching zayn’s face quickly before dropping back to the floor. he takes another few steps backwards and zayn frowns. he’s not going to be able to get into liam’s pants if he keeps running away from him.

“hey liam,” zayn tries for another grin, “it’s nice to meet you. did you enjoy the show?”

liam shrugs, eyes still tracing the floor, and licks his lips, “i didn’t watch.”

zayn feels his eyes narrow involuntarily, “why not?” liam may be cute but that doesn’t give him the right to ignore him - hell even the old women had come and zayn would bet his life they didn’t know what RnB even was.

liam stops walking backwards and lifts his eyes to look squarely at zayn. his gaze is steady when he says, “you know you did great, why do you need me to tell you whether i liked it or not?”

there’s a silence and zayn blinks disbelievingly at liam.

he chokes, “what the fuck?”

liam scoffs, “please, I could see your ego from all the way over here. even when you first came in - like, like what even? come back down to earth, mate, you’re not better than anyone in that room.”

and nobody, nobody, not even his management, not even paul, has ever called him out before; and they spent everyday with zayn’s ego. he finds himself unnerved, by more than one thing. for one, it’s not the time but, liam’s voice is sexy - god, liam is sort of sexy when he’s all fired up. it’s completely the wrong time but zayn finds himself caught for a minute in the illogical amount of fury in liam’s eyes, and before he can say anything, liam is turning gracefully on his heel (fucking ballerina in his past life, zayn thinks bitterly) and striding down the hallway back to his room.

Well, fuck.

………….. 

that night, in his crappy hotel room in wolverhampton, zayn goes through two packs before the shaking in his hands is controllable.

…………..

the next day (at eight in the fucking morning mind you) zayn finds himself in the hospital, sneaking through the back door in an effort to go unseen. he’s supposed to be packing - he’s supposed to be flying out today - he’s supposed to be doing a lot of things - and stalking liam isn’t one of them. which brings him back to the present - why in hell is he doing this? zayn doesn’t care if people like him or not. (brutal honesty, on the other hand, is a different story).

he’s halfway down the corridor to the patients room when he realizes he has no clue where to find liam - he’s doesn’t know even know what room he’s in. he hasn’t got a last name to guide him damnit (not that he’d ever go back to the front desk; not that he knows what he’d say to liam when/if he found him, not that-)

christ.

zayn runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. he has half a mind to let everything go and just call paul, though he doesn’t want to deal with any more disciplinary talks since he’s snuck out without actually telling anyone.

ten more minutes of striding up and down the hallway and zayn is ready to fuck all and get out. he’s actually surprised that he hasn’t been kicked out - what with the strange looks he’s been gathering from the early shift nurses. he rolls his eyes, this really isn’t important - he doesn’t even know what he’s going to do or say for christ’s sakes. with that decision in mind, he makes his way quickly to the back door through which he’d come in - maybe he can make it back to the hotel room before paul figures out he was gone (not happening).

he pushes the door out in frustration, (he’s noticed he takes his abuse out on doors in general), but the door slams back in his face after, seemingly, hitting something solid. zayn groans, rubbing his forehead, and reaches for the door again, ready to curse the fuck out of what had just most likely caused a bruise (he has a show in a few days, damnit, and he doesn’t need any paps or fans asking him a million and one questions - or worse - spinning their own stories or an abuse management and security). except, zayn never makes contact with the door handle as the door is yanked backwards to reveal liam. how does zayn get himself into these things anyway?

shit.

…………..

the motherfucker is ignoring him. zayn is sure of it. (and zayn really, really sort of wants to fuck him). liam is adorable, in black track pants and a gray shirt soaked through with sweat - and it shouldn’t be hot (it should be disgusting) - but zayn’s always liked his men athletic. anyway, the point is even though he now gets to stare at liam’s ass, he doesn’t like the idea that liam is walking away from him (fall in my bed, damnit).

“liam, liam, come on, man. wait up.” zayn feels like an idiot - he can’t remember the last time he’s resorted to begging but liam seems to bring out the worst in him. he also can’t remember the last time he followed someone around for fifteen minutes without an acknowledgement. 

liam sighs and reluctantly stops, but the look in his eyes hasn’t changed a bit - he’s furious and zayn just wants to know why. 

so he says, “what in hell did i ever do to you, mate?”

liam raises an eyebrow elegantly (definitely a ballerina, zayn decides), “what do you even want from me?”

zayn furrows his brow, pulling his face into one of confusion (if only liam knew what he really wanted), “i just want to fucking talk to you.”

liam frowns, shifting uncomfortably. “stop cursing,” he hisses.

it’s zayn’s turn to be uncomfortable. he doesn’t really know how to talk without throwing out a few (ok a lot) of curse words - it’s cool, damnit. everyone did it (danny did it too). but zayn swallows his protest, and backs down. liam brings out a lot of firsts in him - no one has really questioned what zayn did for years. it’s new (and scary).

“alright, alright.” zayn raises his hands his surrender and liam’s shoulders sag in relief. 

“ok,” he says in response. 

there’s an awkward silence.

“so…” zayn mentally slaps himself. he’s not supposed to be that dorky high school kid anymore. “liam. how are you?”

liam chuckles, ice effectively broken for the time being. “i’m good. and you?” he smiles blindingly.

zayn’s mouth feels like sandpaper. “i’m fine,” he manages. liam glances at his batman wristwatch and he frowns. in desperation, zayn throws out, “a batman fan, huh?”

luckily it seemed to be the right thing to say. liam flushed pink and grinned. “yeah huge fan, but this is present from my mum actually.”

zayn genuinely laughs (liam is so fu- so effing cute), “nothing to be embarrassed about mate, i’ve got dozens of comic books even back at the hotel room.”

liam smiles shyly. “yeah?”

zayn grins (gotcha), “yeah, you wanna come up there? i’ve got a few things i could show you.”

liam cuffs his sneakers on the floor (zayn wants to pin him to the floor), “well, i’ve got a little time before the nurse comes in to check on me….”

zayn grins, “let’s go, yeah?”

this time liam’s smile makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, and zayn has to force himself to breathe.

………….. 

liam actually wants to look at his comics. fucking hell (sorry), but this is not what zayn had in mind when he invited liam back to his hotel room. I mean can’t the kid take a hint. zayn malik had just invited liam payne (as he finds out on the way) up to his hotel room - and he wants to look at comic books. zayn wants to punch himself in the face, this is what he doesn’t go after the innocent looking ones. (liam is endearing, though that’s another story).

“these are all vintage, zayn,” liam breathes, a note of awe in his voice, as he looks up from the superman comic in his hands, brown eyes swimming with childish excitement. he’s sitting at the edge of zayn’s bed, legs kicking back on forth on the expensive carpeting.

something warm trickles into zayn’s chest and he smiles, despite the fact that he really wants to shove liam back on the bed and - god. liam bites his bottom lip shyly in response and zayn has to physically pull his reaching hands back.

liam drops his gaze back to the illustration of superman, “where did you get these?” 

zayn crosses the room to sit next to liam. liam shifts suddenly when he feels zayn’s knee brush his own and zayn can’t stop the smile on his face (he can’t remember the last time he’d smiled so much). “eh, i’ve been collecting for a long time. some were gifts, some i saved up for months to get.” and zayn shouldn’t be telling liam this - collecting comics isn’t cool (danny used to laugh), but liam only tilts to look at zayn.

“i can’t imagine you saving up for anything,” he says quietly.

zayn swallows, “why’s that?” 

liam laughs with a bitter edge, “you’re zayn malik - god you, you have everything don’t you? I’m surprised you even showed up at the hospital. you know the staff thought you wouldn’t at all - that’s why you didn’t have a mic. they didn’t bother to get anything ready cause they thought you wouldn’t show.”

zayn taps his fingers against his jeans, and quickly looks away from liam. “that’s not true.”

“that’s bullshit.” 

“i thought you didn’t curse.”

“i don’t.”

zayn doesn’t really know how they got here (there’s too much truth here) so he wildly grasps for a new subject, because as much as liam scares him, he doesn’t want him to leave.

“so why are you at the hospital?” the minute the words leave his mouth, zayn wants to stuff them back in - what a stupid, insensitive question to ask (more importantly, since when did he care about being sensitive?)

liam abruptly stands and throws him a contemptuous glare, “you’re unbelievable you know that? forget everything, i have to go anyway.”

and zayn can’t do anything but stare ashamedly at his hands as liam storms out of his room.

…………..

paul is furious. he rants to zayn for twenty minutes about disappearing in the morning and bringing a patient (liam) back to his room (zayn, do you have any self control at all?) and zayn presses the heels of his hands to his eyes in an effort to stop the strange burning sensation.

“christ, paul,” his voice cracks embarrassingly. “nothing happened ok. he came up here to look at my comics.” zayn gestures to the many spread out at the foot of his bed.

paul stops mid sentence. zayn glances up to see paul sigh heavily and reach to pat his back reassuringly. “it’s ok, kid,” he says gruffly.

zayn chokes back a sob, “when the hell are we getting outta here?”

paul hesitates, suddenly aware of zayn’s fragility, “we missed our flight outta here kid and since this is a pretty low profile town, it looks like you’ll have to wait a couple days before the next commercial airlines to london decides to make a stop here.”

zayn groans, “the bloody universe is out to get me.”

paul sighs, “i’m gonna go extend our reservations alright. bloody service to them really. stay put kid. stay put.”

………….. 

that night, in his crappy hotel room in wolverhampton, not even two full packs can stop the shaking in zayn’s hands.

(he can hear danny now: you’re a pussy, zayn. a fucking pussy)

………….. 

the next day, zayn takes one look at the headlines of the sun and promptly sprays his orange juice all over the bed. 

zayn malik charity show for diabetic patients in wolverhampton: zayn malik, universally acknowledged for his bad-boy persona, has arranged his first charity gig. the RnB singer flew to remote wolverhampton, england to perform for patients with type I and type II diabetes. when questioned why, the star was surprisingly thoughtful, far from his usual snarky self, “people with diabetes are really brave - those people go through so much every day. i just thought i’d do something nice for them….”

there were multiple things wrong with this article. first off, zayn was never polite to his interviewers, and second, he would never have said something like that (pussy, danny would say). in fact zayn doesn’t remember ever being asked about this - hell he didn’t think he was really going to go through with it. the article is old - two days old to be precise - and dread pools in his stomach.

“so why are you at the hospital?”

“you’re unbelievable you know that?”

liam.

………….. 

zayn tells himself he doesn’t care whether people like him or not. he doesn’t want to try to make people like him. he’s done. he’s famous for god’s sake.

which is precisely why he feels the desperate need to explain himself to liam. paul’s checked at the airport and the next flight from wolverhampton to london is scheduled for thursday, which gives zayn two days to turn this mess around. 

as zayn makes his way to the hospital, for the first time in two days, he’s mobbed by paps.

“over here zayn!” 

“zayn!”

a piece of cardstock is shoved under his nose. zayn glances down uninterestedly and nearly swallows his tongue when he does. ripping the picture from the hands of the pap, he stares at it in disbelief. It’s an angled shot, clearly taken from outside his window. liam’s profile is visible - he’s on the edge of his bed, biting his lip and zayn is smiling softly down at him from his position in front of him. they look like a couple about to do the dirty and zayn feels his heart leap to his throat.

“that your boyfriend zayn?”

“can you confirm that liam payne was in your hotel room yesterday?”

“are you going to visit him now?”

“do you know he’s a serious diabetic patient?”

zayn tucks the cardstock under his arm and scowls at the paparazzi swarming him. “fuck off.” and he enters the hospital without a backward glance.

………….. 

liam is sitting in front of his hospital room computer, staring at the screen in shocked horror. he’s trending worldwide on twitter - twice (#liamandzayn, #ziam). apparently, zayn’s never caught with a person in a non-compromising position in his hotel room, which must mean liam is special - papers are calling it zayn’s first love. liam doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

he’s rudely interrupted by the source of his pain, when zayn slams the door roughly behind him and strides up to stand maddeningly close to him. there’s no doubt about it - zayn is probably one of the most attractive people liam has ever seen. what with all that thick black hair (softly brushed across his forehead today) and rick brown eyes. except he’s also overly cocky and an asshole. and liam really hates cocky assholes.

once when he was a kid, this popular kid at school, andy, had told liam that worms tasted like chicken. so liam had popped one in his mouth, only to be violently sick a few hours later. his mother had rushed him to the emergency room when he collapsed later that week after refusing to eat almost anything. the doctor had run a few tests and come out with the news I’m sorry Mrs. Payne, but it looks like diabetes - type one diabetes.

liam remembers a lot of people crying over him - but he didn’t understand why. all he had to do was prick himself in the finger a few times a day and take a couple of shots in his bum (both of which were very annoying but honestly, it wasn’t the end of the world). 

that was years before the sharp pains in his sides had started - before liam was pulled from his senior year in high school because both his kidneys had failed and before he was on daily dialysis, forever dependent on his hospital room (partly because after his mum had died liam felt less inclined to perform it on himself - afraid of any consequences if done wrong). liam had long accepted that he wasn’t really going anywhere - he couldn’t leave wolverhampton and he certainly couldn’t get a very good job, what with his unfinished education. he couldn’t even get a boyfriend - or a girlfriend, and he didn’t even like girls. nobody ever sticks around when the find out that liam has to disappear down to the hospital everyday for an hour to stick a tube in his stomach to drain bodily waste.

zayn slams a hand down on his desk, looking disheveled like he ran to the hospital, although liam suspects he was probably dropped here by an expensive looking car. liam is slightly hysterical to see him, “what the hell have you done?” he demands.

“liam, listen, I- what I said yesterday was a lie.” zayn stops short and viciously shakes his head and liam’s poorly masked confusion, “no I mean - what was in the paper was a lie.” the cardstock is burning a whole through zayn’s underarm but he has more pressing matter to deal with than another stupid rumor (even one that makes zayn feel hot under the collar).

liam opens his mouth to argue - there was no confusion about their previous conversation - zayn, being the cocky bastard that he was had actually forgotten the reason behind his own charity gig. “zayn there are no-“

“listen to me, yeah,” zayn bursts, cockney accent thickening, “you were right liam - like you always seem to be when it comes to zayn malik - i didn’t want to do this fuc- this effing gig and i definitely didn’t forget why i did it because i didn’t know why in the first place.”

liam sighs, “why didn’t you just say so when i asked?”

zayn makes a noise of frustration, “because i can’t fuck- sorry - i can’t say - no i actually don’t give a shit (shit is not a cruse word, liam) about charity gigs, nobody ever benefits from them anyway - to you. how effed up would that be? i’d look like a, like a. -“

liam laughs darkly, “why is it always about what you look like? and who do you think you’re fooling with your act - everyone can see right through you.”

zayn breaks off and looks at liam in disbelief, “because i’m a celebrity, liam. i can’t go around being myself - i’d get chucked off my label, my PR agents would go mad.”

liam shakes his head, “but you aren’t fooling anyone,” he repeats.

zayn presses his hands to his eyes to stop him from embarrassing himself (weak danny would have said), “liam - everyone is fooled, yeah? everyone except you.”

there’s a pause and zayn feels like his world has tilted off its axis but liam’s hospital room still looks the same: clean and sterile with liam in a chair behind his desk.

liam eyes him carefully, like zayn is going to spontaneously combust in front of his eyes, “are-are you scared?” his tone his tinged with disbelief.

zayn laughs loudly, with his head thrown back, but there’s no humor in it. he’s never been so bare, stripped down to his bones, in front of another person before. nobody has ever been able to read him like this before - not even danny. (your a fucking open book, zayn, control yourself danny had said while zayn watched in silence, thankful for his ability to hide, hide, hide).

“yes liam, i’m (bloody) scared,” zayn says in a are-you-happy-now-you-git sort of way.

liam’s eyes soften as he tries to hold back a smile, “well, don’t be. i won’t tell anyone that zayn malik is actually a big teddy bear.” he leaves out the part where he hasn’t anybody to really tell it to, so zayn doesn’t really have anything to worry about.

zayn can’t stop his burst of laughter, “if you do, i’ll just have to kill you and if that doesn’t bring back my rep then i don’t know what will.”

liam smiles, cheeky, “you wouldn’t kill your boyfriend - that’s harsh, even for you.”

zayn grimaces and drops heavily back onto liam’s bed (and damn him if that doesn’t excite liam a little), “yeah…about that….” he trails off, not really sure how to approach the subject.

liam laughs and shakes his head, “nothing to worry about, mate. i know why we went up there (but do you really, zayn wants to say) and i get how those paps are.”

zayn sighs, running an hand through his flat hair, “no i’m actually sorry about that. they’ll fuc- they’ll hound you at every corner now.”

“well it’s lucky i don’t do anything interesting then,” liam says.

“bull, you look like an extremely interesting person,” zayn responds. (he wonders whether liam would look just as interesting with his clothes off).

liam drops his gaze to his fingers, the shy boy from the door returning, “no - I, I don’t really, well, leave.”

“leave where?”

“leave here,” liam sighs, “i live here zayn, and I can’t really…go anywhere because well, uh -” and god, zayn’s going to run after this. he’s going to run out of town, towards the hills, and on to london. everyone does.

but before liam can get any words out, there’s a nurse knocking and opening his door, “liam, it’s time for your dialysis, honey.”

well then.

………….. 

it turns out zayn doesn’t actually know what a dialysis is so he refuses to leave the room even when liam begs him to. he’s not running but liam actually wishes he would.

instead, zayn’s expression is positively filthy as liam inches up his shirt and he watches him with hooded eyes. christ, liam’s going to dream about this for weeks. but then the nurse is getting the tube out and injecting the dialysate to clean his blood and liam tears his gaze from zayn. he feels naked under zayn’s gaze, even with just his lower stomach showing. 

then, zayn proceeds to make small talk with liam for the next half hour, prattling about the title for his latest album, award shows he’s been to, etc., as the waste is collected from his blood and disposed in a bag by the nurse.

liam yanks his shirt down self-consciously when the procedure is finished, thanking the nurse. she smiles and says she’ll be back tomorrow. from the corner of liam’s eyes, he sees zayn struggle to mask his expression of shock and the disappointment is so acute, liam feels physically sick. i thought - i hoped you were different, zayn. and then he feels foolish because of course, zayn could have anyone he wanted so why would he want a patient?

zayn blinks, “tomorrow?”

liam fiddles with his shirt, refusing to meet zayn’s probing stare, “yeah. daily dialysis cause i haven’t got working kidneys.” 

“not even one?” zayn asks.

“nope - lost ‘em both to diabetes last year,” liam says stoutly, eyes still tracing his shirt’s fabric.

and zayn surprises him completely. “will you be ok?” and his voice is soft and caring and hopeful and liam wants to bash his head into the nearest wall because nobody, nobody has ever asked him that before.

“yeah,” he manages, “i will. i’ll be fine actually. people live for ages on dialysis - nothing to worry about.” he chances a glance up at zayn to find him smiling in - relief? and before zayn has a chance to reply, “you’re nothing like what i expected you to be like.”

zayn’s eyebrows raise. “really?”

liam nods and plows forward, even though he’s doesn’t really know what he’s saying, “yeah - i mean you were before - exactly what i expected i mean. and then you weren’t and well -” he breaks off, flushing, but zayn only smiles in return.

“you’re nothing like what i expected either, liam payne.” 

………….. 

liam learns that zayn’s flight has been moved to friday, and while he’s upset he doesn’t get more time with him, he is happy with the extra time he does get. zayn begins to spends every waking aware in liam’s small hospital room - he waits through the dialysis and curls up with him after for a movie liam will pull up on his computer. liam realizes with a start that, yes, he’ll miss zayn when he leaves.

thursday night, zayn convinces liam to schedule an extra early dialysis appointment with the nurse the next day so he can see zayn off at the airport. which is how liam finds himself struggling to keep his eyes open at six fifteen in the morning while zayn, the self proclaimed morning hater, is in the middle of a lively retelling of how he managed to sneak his little sister’s cat into the brit awards ceremony. (liam remembers reading that headline and rolling his eyes at the writer’s foolishness for believing everything they heard). zayn is actually really annoying right now but his eyes look hazel in the early morning light and his smile creates small crowfeet and liam just really, really can’t stop staring. (he’s beautiful, he thinks, actually beautiful - but he probably already knows that) 

when the nurse, a young, pretty thing, is finished, liam sits up hastily, turning to zayn (it’s like liam’s eyes miss him when he’s not staring) to ask him what he wants to do, but his mouth snaps shut when he sees zayn eyeing the nurse. it’s like someone had sucker punched him as liam focuses on breathing through the irrational hurt curling through him.

zayn has the nerve to throw liam a wink as he turns to the nurse, “hey, do you have a minute babe?”

the nurse, dana, blushes prettily, flipping her hair and liam sort of wants to shave her head bald. “yeah of course,” she says. “what do you need?” and hell if that doesn’t sound shady to liam.

zayn smiles devastatingly and liam finds himself recoiling at it’s brilliance even though it’s not directed at him. “nothing much, love,” he grins predatorily, “i just need to you to show me something.”

Oh and - liam thinks his world has just sort of fallen apart as he attempts to crush the hurt, the fucking hurt in his chest as zayn leads dana out of the room on the last day of his stay at wolverhampton. on his last day with liam.

he drops his face into his hands.

he fancies zayn malik.

…………..

zayn returns two hours later, (without dana) a large smile gracing his face.

liam looks up from his position on the bed, lifting his eyes from the computer screen (toy story is a fantastic film thank you) to see zayn cross the room and cuddle up behind him on the bed. and this just really isn’t fair - who does zayn think he is (he probably thinks he’s zayn malik, liam thinks bitterly, except he actually is all that)?

liam has half a mind to move away from zayn when zayn reaches up a hand to absent-mindedly card through liam’s hair. he groans softly, “this again, li? i’ve been here two days and all we’ve watched are disney films and this godforsaken-“

“ssshhh!” (liam doesn’t really have the ability to form words right now - not with zayn’s hands in his hair and li ricocheting in his mind)

zayn rolls his eyes, “you’ve probably seen this hundreds of times - hel- heck, and you probably know all the words!” 

liam ignores him until he feels zayn reach forward and click out of the movie window on the screen. liam lets out an embarrassing whine and he feels zayn’s laughter rumbling against his back.

“come on liam, talk to me, i’m leaving today you know.”

and that’s so unfair, because liam wasn’t the one who had just spent two hours with the nurse doing god knows what (liam has a pretty good clue though), but he sighs loudly anyway and turns around in the bed, facing zayn , and jesus christ they’re in bed together.

“how’d it go with dana?” liam wants to half slap himself and half congratulate himself because that - that right there just took guts.

zayn smirks, “she was nice.”

liam’s stomach sinks. “good,” he chokes.

“jealous?” zayn teases (or at least, liam hopes he’s teasing).

but liam just smiles back lazily even though his mind is screaming. he lifts his fingers up to dance along zayn’s jaw and pulls a ridiculously seductive expression that has zayn snorting, “you have no idea, babe.”

they blink at each other for a minute before erupting into laughter. 

………….. 

zayn doesn’t want to leave wolverhampton - which is extremely ironic considering how much he actually didn’t want to come here in the first place. he actually asks paul if they can stay the weekend, to which paul replies that zayn has a gig in the london O2 tuesday night and that they were already running behind schedule. so instead, he asks for an extra plane ticket.

(…zayn has just finished telling liam about his three sisters and how his parents are divorced and how he grew up with his mum in a small town with a bunch of white kids (liam frowns at zayn’s bitter tone and wraps him in a hug, making zayn’s pulse hammer.) zayn has never really opened up to the papers or his management or even paul about his family or his childhood - it was just common knowledge that there were parts of zayn that he refused to share, which in turn made the paps even wilder and the media spin a brooding, mysterious image for zayn.

“so?” zayn asks from his position on the bed. liam is sitting behind his desk, swiveling his chair back and forth, a smile pulling his lips as he listens to zayn talk. (honestly, he was a fool to think that zayn malik was quiet).

“so what?”

“so,” zayn huffs, sitting up, “tell me about your family.”

liam’s face reddens - he’s like the poster boy for bad luck. diabetes, failed kidneys, dead mother, no siblings, and a stranger for a dad. he shrugs a shoulder carelessly, “there isn’t much to tell really.” zayn raises an eyebrow, and liam hurriedly continues, “i mean, my mum died last year. i never really met my dad - he left when i was little. and i haven’t got any brothers or sisters.”

there’s a beat as liam clenches his fist, waiting for the inevitable - where they would take in the sterile room, take in liam’s words, take in the pricks on his fingers, the lancing device on the table and say, meaninglessly, i’m sorry.

“are you lonely?” 

liam looks up because what did he say. “what?”

“are you lonely liam?” he asks again.

liam looks down at his shoes, “i feel alone,” he admits, “but i don’t know if i really am.”

zayn finds himself at a loss for words because sometimes on tour, he’s surrounded by security, by management, by fans, by interviewers, by paparazzi, and he’s utterly, painfully alone. 

for god’s sakes, zayn wonders, where did this person - this liam payne - come from?…)

………….. 

the paparazzi go wild when they realize that liam is accompanying zayn to the airport. the short walks from the hospital to the car and car to the airport each take three times as long, leaving paul grumbling about why is this my job. i have to keep track of not one - but two - skinny arsed teenagers and liam terrified and cowering into zayn’s side (zayn may or may not have purposefully sought out the paps to see liam’s reactions to the dating rumors - sadly he didn’t find out much other than that liam really didn’t like attention). 

“hey,” liam says, placing a hand on zayn’s shoulder, “i’ll see you soon, yeah.” it sounds more like a question. but liam is hyperaware that he’s standing in front zayn malik in the airport as he’s about to jet of to london - there isn’t much chance that zayn wants to ever see him again.

zayn smiles warmly (the paps must be eating this up from their position outside the glass), “sooner than you think,” he grins mischievously and reaches into his pocket, pulling out two plane tickets - and oh - liam doesn’t really want to think about that means. but zayn just grins harder, eyes crinkling, “wanna come with?”

liam opens his mouth but nothing comes out. so he clears his throat and tries again, but can’t stop the, “really?”

zayn rolls his eyes, “yeah why not?”

but liam bites his lips and he remembers why not, “i don’t think you get what dialysis is - zayn, everyday means everyday. as in i can’t -”

“i know that,” zayn interrupts.

liam frowns, “i can’t - i mean, i want to, but i don’t know how to -“

“but i do.”

liam’s mouth sort of falls open - because zayn malik never ceases to surprise him, “what?”

zayn laughs, “you think i took dana out for a shag?”

yes, yes i do liam wants to say but, of course, he doesn’t because that would be awkward. he doesn’t know what to say because jesus, nobody has ever done this for him - as if he was actually important. (and liam starts to think zayn might actually listen.)

zayn steps close, misunderstanding liam’s silence, “liam. god i don’t beg -ever, but please, yeah? i just, ” he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, “sometimes i. i don’t know how to be me.” 

liam just stares - he also gets the feeling that what zayn is saying right now is really important so he might want to remember it.

“and you remind me how to,” zayn finishes earnestly. (danny would laugh, but zayn can’t bring himself to care)

liam has never wanted to kiss him more.

………….. 

if liam going to the airport made the paps go wild, they go into a frenzy when liam actually follows zayn through security and towards the terminal. luckily (or unluckily in some ways), they can’t follow zayn past a certain point, so zayn and liam are suddenly alone (paul awkwardly excuses himself to the bathroom) with nothing but zayn’s luggage.

and that reminds him, “i haven’t got any luggage.” 

“hmm?” zayn looks up distractedly from the screen where he’s been checking flight scheduling (its right on time - arrived and being cleaned).

“zayn, everything’s back at the hospital,” he repeats. 

zayn doesn’t look bothered, “we’ll get you new stuff.” but liam shakes his head furiously so he quickly makes amends, “i’ll call the hospital and ask them to send everything up to london. i promise.”

liam blinks suddenly, “everything?” because how long is he staying exactly?

zayn just looks confused, “yeah - i mean unless you don’t want some stuff. my tour’s starting soon and it’s for a couple months - four or five, i can’t quite remember.”

before liam can do something embarrassing, like cry or kiss him or both, paul comes back and herds them to the baggage check-in counter. 

zayn chatters excitedly about all the things he wants to show liam and tells him that he’s even willing to go up on the london eye so liam can have a look and that liam better appreciate it because he’s terrified of heights. (what a gay-ass fear zayn, danny had said. shut up - zayn thinks).

before they board the airplane, paul pulls liam to the side while zayn is distracted with taking a photo with two fans that recognized him.

“thanks,” he says to a bewildered liam, “you’re a good lad, liam. a good lad.”

and when zayn turns back to him with a blinding smile (so rare when they had first met), liam thinks he understands why.

………….. 

the flight is very short, only about forty-five minutes and zayn tells liam that most people would normally take the train, but he’s in a rush (liam understands the i’d get mobbed that’s unsaid). but despite the short time, liam can’t sit still.

zayn’s laughing as liam attempts for the fifteenth time to recline his seat and liam scowls at him. he laughs harder, reaching over to pinch his cheek. “i’ll do it for you yeah, stop acting a like overexcited puppy.” liam pulls a pout (where he really does look like a puppy), making zayn’s breath stutter for a second. (christ, liam has really big eyes). 

he reaches over him, pushing the silver button on liam’s armrest firmly and places his other hand, on liam’s chest. “lean back, li.” liam does as he’s told, but the seat doesn’t budge.

“harder.”

he pushes back with more force on the seat, causing it to slide back. “finally,” he mutters, though it’s strangled because zayn’s hand, warm and large, is still on his chest. he’s positive zayn can feel his heart hammering through his shirt. 

suddenly the empty first class cabin (because really, who flies first class in wolverhampton) is too small and he’s painfully aware that they’re alone. (paul is pointedly looking away, face buried in a magazine).

liam chances a glace at zayn and zayn’s eyes are dark, so dark he can’t see any brown, and his hand is possessively burning through his chest. liam thinks that his skin might just be on fire and just as he’s thinking that maybe he should have tried to become a fireman after all because the way zayn is looking at him, liam is sure he’s going to combust.

“liam,” zayn’s voice is wrecked and liam couldn’t look away if he tried. “liam look at me.”

“i am,” he murmurs. 

zayn uses his other hand to lift the hand rest separating the two of them before curling it in liam’s hair. liam lets out an embarrassing whine as zayn twists his fingers in his curls, the hand on his chest moving to his side so he’s pressed firmly against the scratchy seat. zayn leans impossibly closer.

“liam,” he mutters again, “is this ok?”

and liam wants to scream because zayn’s mouth is literally two inches away and every time he speaks, his breath ghosts over his mouth. his hands are firm, possessive, on his body and zayn’s eyes are impossibly black, locked onto liam’s lips. liam nods his head savagely and zayn makes a low noise in his throat and surges forward. 

kissing zayn is nothing like liam thought it would be. zayn kisses with a single-minded purpose; like he knows he can make liam fall apart with nothing but his lips and tongue and teeth (liam supposes he can). he tries to push back harder, but zayn’s grip tightens as he tips liam’s head back against the seat, holding him firmly in place as he dominates his mouth. liam reaches up his forgotten hands to cup zayn’s cheeks and zayn growls, pushing impossibly closer. 

liam can’t really do anything but stay down and take what’s given to him as every swipe of tongue and bite of lip has him shaking to his core. zayn pulls back with a gasp, breathing hard and liam thinks he’s gone into cardiac arrest with the way his heart sounds like a drum in his ears. before he remembers to take in a breath, zayn’s kissing him again - harder than before and liam gasps into his mouth. zayn smirks against his mouth, deepening the kiss, taking full control. liam is beginning to think zayn doesn’t know the meaning of a soft kiss.

but even as zayn is pressing into him, kissing him within an inch of his life, liam is a sensible lad and the disgruntled cough from the row of seats to his right doesn’t go unheard.

”zayn,” he breathes raggedly, “zayn stop for a minute.”

zayn whines, but pulls back, pressing their foreheads together. “what’s wrong, babe?”

liam ducks his head, face flushing. “paul,” he whispers. 

zayn laughs loudly, and lifts his head. “hello paul,” he calls brightly, waving to his favorite security man. paul looks up from his magazine, frowning slightly as liam attempts to put some space between their bodies, but zayn pushes himself tightly against him.

paul gives zayn a sardonic smile, “hello zayn.”

zayn rolls his eyes, “you, my good sir, are a cockblock.”

liam feels his face go hot and thankfully, zayn moves off him, grumbling. he doesn’t, however, go back to his own seat but rather cuddles liam into his side. 

paul smiles, a little less sarcastic this time, “thank you zayn.”

………….. 

it’s only when liam hears the announcement for the landing call that he panics. (because now zayn is going to be zayn malik and the paparazzi thinks they’re dating and-)

zayn is resting quietly against his shoulder, half asleep when liam shakes him.

he yawns, “are we landing?”

liam nods, “yeah.” he hesitates. “zayn, what- i mean we just, you know and does that mean we’re. i mean - what do you want?” liam groans - he’s not making any sense.

zayn though, bless him, seems to understand. he reaches up a hand and brushes his fingers across liam’s forehead. “we’re anything you want us to be.” there’s a beat before zayn confesses quietly, with more vulnerability in his voice than liam’s ever heard before, “i’ve never really met anyone like you - so i’m kind of hoping you want something to do with me.”

liam smiles down at zayn, because suddenly zayn doesn’t look anything like he does on TV on all those red carpet shows and interviews. he doesn’t look anything like the man that had just pushed liam into the seat and claimed him. instead, zayn’s looking at their intertwined hands resting on his lap and liam feels a rush of affection for this boy he doesn’t really know but feels like he’s known forever.

“zayn,” he says, trying to convey as much as he can in the one syllable. “zayn look at me.” 

zayn looks up shyly, a smile lighting his eyes. “i’ve never done this before,” he breathes, “but - i, i want to try liam. i want to try with you.” then he looks suddenly hesitant, “i mean if you want to that is. because if you don’t then i understand - i mean -“  
and liam leans down to press their mouths together in that soft kiss they’d skipped. “i’d really, really like that actually.”

and zayn smiles devastatingly up at him.

………….. 

they’re not perfect. but liam teaches zayn to ignore danny’s voice in his ear and reminds him how to be zayn after a long day of being zayn malik for the world (he also manages to get zayn’s dependence on fags to turn recreational and zayn finds his hands don’t shake uncontrollably anymore).

for liam: zayn makes him feel loved - and really, liam doesn’t need much else.

the papers print endless stories - they win the “cutest couple of the year” multiple time, zayn is labeled a cheater countless times, liam is called “unworthy” and “not good enough” and “a diabetic” (and zayn will press him against the nearest surface, whether or not they have an audience, and kiss him over and over and over again until liam swears he’ll never stop feeling the imprint of zayn’s mouth on his). 

and no matter how much liam told him it would be easier, zayn refuses to hire a nurse for liam, and instead sits down in his knees, pressing kisses to liam’s stomach as he filters his blood. (one time, zayn had looked mournfully down at liam and said, “i wish i could give you a kidney liam.” to which liam had promptly cried and called zayn a fool and yanked him into a bone crushing hug and a deep kiss).

they fight explosively, but liam had expected that everything they did would be explosive since that day of zayn’s last gig of the tour where he’d pressed liam into his hotel room mattress and delved into him in every which way possible, making liam see stars on the plain white ceiling.

(…”li,” zayn whispers into his skin, late one night, “are you awake.” they’re in wolverhampton because zayn has a few days off. liam had laughed endlessly when zayn had reddened and told liam that there was no where else he’d rather go.

liam groans lightly, shifting to zayn’s level, “i am now.”

zayn frowns apologetically, “sorry, go back to sleep, babe.”

but liam shifts up on his elbow, hovering over zayn, “no,” he says quietly, not wanting to break the tranquil atmosphere of the room, “what’s wrong.”

zayn smiles sleepily up at him, eyes bright and hazy, “nothing. nothing’s wrong.”

“ok,” liam says, tracing zayn’s cheekbones. silence blankets them until zayn speaks again.

“li?”

“yeah.”

“i think i’m in love,” he whispers, “you know - with you.”

liam feels his heart swell four sizes too big in response to this beautiful, beautiful boy, “yeah, i think so too. i mean - you with,” he blushes, “i think i’m in love too.” 

zayn pulls him down, pressing his face into liam’s neck, “good,” he says, then promptly yawns. “night li.”

“goodnight, love.”…)

**Author's Note:**

> God, I hope you guys like this - I spent ages and ages fussing over it. It’s long and little bit shitty and I still need a lot of practice writing but I just really hope you like this. 
> 
> find me on tumblr too, if you wish - same username (unfortunate17). and yes, if you saw this on my tumblr - you may hate me for the repost.


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